


For Here

by suburbanomad



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, just normal people stuff, just so you know, mention of drug use, sucks, we're not going dark or anything, which you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2510891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanomad/pseuds/suburbanomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve’s a better friend than a messed-up ex-junkie like Bucky deserves. After they got back from Afghanistan, Bucky was willing to let the world wash him away, but Steve found him and dragged him back out. Now they’re working at this coffee shop by the university where Steve studies art and the college kids make Bucky feel about ninety years old.</p><p>Well, all of them except for Steve’s new friend Natasha — hazelnut cappuccino, for here — who sits by the back table poring over thick poli sci books. She’s got a wicked little smile that makes him think there’s more to her than cardigans and crossword puzzles, but what does he have to offer that she couldn’t get somewhere else?</p><p>(It's a coffee shop AU. Because I wanted one.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Here you go," Bucky says, setting the cup and saucer down a respectful distance away from the sleek Macbook that probably cost more than he makes in a month. Natasha looks up from the screen and the corners of her mouth curl ever-so-slightly in a way that Bucky’s going to fall in love with if he’s not careful.

He’s seen her laugh, seen her grin, even, but only with people he’s pretty sure she hated. There was some kind of study group she got swept up in last month, a loud bunch led by some douche with a fauxhawk who skipped the big table in the side room in favor of dragging all the little tables over to the armchairs by the window. Bucky had exchanged glances with Steve and Natasha, and by unspoken agreement “accidentally” burned the espresso while Steve switched the rich taste of whole milk for watery skim. Brock — who the hell names their kid  _Brock?_ — got three times the normal amount of (sugar-free) vanilla, resulting in a sickly sweet, undrinkable mess. Lo and behold, nobody but Natasha has come back since.

"Thanks," she says, back in the present, and it sounds like she actually means it. Bucky can’t help but stay to watch as she lifts the cup to her lips and takes a long pull of the cappuccino, coming away with foam clinging adorably to her upper lip and even the tip of her nose. He doesn’t manage to smother a snicker, and she looks at him curiously, green eyes sharp. "What?"

"It’s just — you’ve got a little, uh —" Bucky gestures helplessly to his own face before reaching over to grab a fistful of napkins from the next table over. He’s got a crazy little impulse to dab at the foam himself, but Nat’s —  _Natasha’_ s a customer, more Steve’s friend than his, and Bucky’s only known her since he started working here in September. That would be a totally creeper move, whereas she seems completely comfortable taking the napkins from his hand.

(It’s the bad hand, the left one, that hasn’t moved quite right ever since that IED —  _no, stop it, Bucky, push it down, not here not now—_ )

"Did I get it all?" Natasha’s question breaks his train of thought and he smiles, grateful, even if he can’t tell her why.

"You look great," he assures her. It’s halfway out of his mouth before he thinks about what it sounds like, but her lips curl and her green eyes dance, so he decides to own it, shooting her a wink as he slinks back to the counter, hoping it looks like he has work to do and not like he’s beating a tactical retreat.


	2. Chapter 2

“So the place is called Phil’s,” Sam says as Bucky hands him his large tuxedo iced mocha at the end of the counter. He takes a thick mouthful of whipped cream criss-crossed with chocolate sauce and white chocolate shavings before he continues. “But your boss’ name’s Pepper and the guy who owns the place is named Tony?”

“Yep,” Bucky confirms. He likes Sam a lot, which is good, because the guy’s at the shop almost as much as Steve is. They’re one of those couples that would be disgusting if they weren’t so adorable, and it’s nice to have a reminder that Steve’s got something good in his life outside of work and school and all of Bucky’s shit.

“So who’s Phil, then?”

Bucky shrugs. “I have no idea. It’s been like that since I got here. Not that that means much.” Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky spots Steve coming out of the back room, a five-pound bag of coffee thrown over each shoulder. “Hey, Steve?”

Steve exchanges a quick peck on the lips with Sam before he starts dumping beans into the hopper. “Yeah?”

“Who’s Phil?”

Steve pauses half a moment, pretending to focus on not spilling coffee everywhere. “He owns the shop,” he says, voice a little tight. Sam and Bucky exchange glances.

“I thought Tony owned the shop,” Bucky says carefully. Steve sighs, giving the bag one last little shake before putting it aside.

“He does. Sort of. He was the financial backer; Phil was the guy who put it together. A couple of years ago, there was… an accident. They weren’t sure if Phil would make it, so Tony bought out the debt Phil had taken on under his own name and hired Pepper to look after things.” He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “They’re still not sure if he’s gonna come back.”

“Wow,” Sam says, tone sympathetic. “That’s rough.”

“Phil gave me this job,” Steve explains, flashing one of those smiles he has that seem to crumple halfway through. “I didn’t have any experience, but I needed a job, and he remembered me from going to Commandos games, so he gave me a shot.”

“Commandos -- wait, you mean the Howling Commandos? As in high school?” Bucky can’t believe it.

“I guess when we went to state it was kind of a big deal.” Steve shrugs those broad quarterback shoulders and this time his grin is real, if a little bashful. “It was in the papers. Turns out he was a bit of a fan.”

Sam, who isn’t a townie like Steve and Bucky are, seems to be putting the pieces of a puzzle together, one eyebrow raised.

“Wait a second,” he says, looking back and forth between them. “I know you said you guys played football together, but I never heard about y’all going to state.” He takes a long, thoughtful sip of his iced mocha. “I thought it was, like, pee-wee leagues or something.”

Bucky can’t help but snicker at the image of a tiny Steve wearing a an enormous football helmet and shoulder pads almost as wide as he is tall. _Probably could have used those, to be honest,_ he thinks to himself.

“Nah, we never had the money for that,” Steve explains, a little sheepish. “And I was sick a lot as a kid. Leukemia, remember?”

Bucky claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder and shakes him a bit. “Not that that stopped him from making varsity! Best quarterback in the state, ‘04 to ’05!”

Steve gives him a good-natured shove and rolls his eyes. “I seem to recall having a pretty good running back,” he replies. Sam just stands there like he’s seeing his boyfriend with new eyes.

“Varsity quarterback,” he chuckles, and something about the way he’s holding the end of his straw between his teeth seems to make Steve redden.

“He was _team captain_ ,” Bucky pitches in helpfully, because he’s an asshole and loves to see Steve get all worked up. Sam smirks.

“Next you’re gonna be telling me he dated a cheerleader,” Sam snickers. Steve starts wiping the counter with some force, suddenly no longer meeting their eyes.

“Peggy was class president,” he says primly, and Sam lets out a snort of laughter. Bucky decides to twist the knife.

“They were prom king and queen,” he stage-whispers, and Sam covers his open mouth with one hand.

“ _No_.” He looks to Steve for confirmation. Steve’s jaw is clenched so tight he just gives a tense little nod, and that’s when Sam loses it completely.

“Steve Rogers, your life is unreal, man. Un. Real.”

“To be fair, they were both so busy they barely saw each other senior year,” Bucky tells him, feeling like he shouldn’t make it sound too story-book. “And guess who got to hear all about how much he missed her?” He jerks a thumb needlessly towards himself, rolling his eyes.

“Aw. So why’d you two break up?” Sam asks Steve, leaning his elbows against the counter. Steve sighs, wiping out a shot glass like he needs something to do with his hands.

“She went back to England for college,” he explains. “I joined the army. It was just… too much distance. When we met back up it was like we were completely different people. She’d built this whole life over there, and me?” He shrugs. “I didn’t have a place in it.”

The sad, awkward pause that stretches out after that sentence is broken abruptly by the jingle of the bells tied above the door. Bucky heaves a silent sigh of relief.

“Well, her loss, man,” Sam tells Steve, pressing his hands against the counter and pushing himself up to snag a kiss that seems to wipe the worst of the melancholy off Steve’s face. “I’m gonna count myself lucky.” He steps aside to let the newcomers place their order and takes his usual spot on the barstool by the wall, ready to pass the hour until Steve’s shift gets over. Bucky’s eyes flick to Natasha’s table -- empty now, it’s way too early -- as he slips on a smile and tries not to wonder what she’d think of the best varsity running back in state, ‘04 to ‘05.


	3. Chapter 3

“Ughhhhh…” Bucky groans after a particularly heavy rush, slumping forward across the counter. “I swear, if one more person orders a pumpkin spice latte…”

“You’ll make it for them, and do it while striving to meet our highest standard of customer service,” Pepper tells him, swatting at his ass with her rag.

“You don’t come to an indie coffee shop like this for the customer service,” he replies, but he straightens up and wipes down the counter by way of apology. “They can go to Starbucks or something if they want some idiot in an apron to smile for them while they indulge their bad taste.”

Pepper confirms once again that she’s the best boss ever by rolling her eyes instead of giving him a lecture. “I like pumpkin spice lattes,” she reminds him, and he winces.

“Sorry.”

“You’re grumpy today,” she observes, sliding up beside him.

Bucky sighs. He knows that tone of voice -- it’s the same one Steve uses all the time when he wants to snoop without being accused of prying. He puts his hair band between his teeth and starts pulling his hair up in a messy bun to buy himself time.

It’s a lot of things, to be honest. Steve’s classes are picking up, so he’s around even less, and it pisses Bucky off that it bothers him as much as it does. Plus, his arm was acting up last night, which was one of his triggers when he was using, so he feels like shit and he hasn’t had time to go to a meeting today. Eventually, he’d finally just given up on sleep and gone to the kitchen, which reminds him --

“Oh, hey,” he says to Pepper. “You saw those cupcakes in the back room, right?”

Pepper’s expression brightens immediately. “I did! I wonder what they’re for?”

“They’re not ‘for’ anything,” he tells her, stifling a yawn. “They’re just there because I need to get people to eat them for me.”

Pepper raises a quizzical eyebrow, so he heads towards the back room, motioning her to follow. He takes up a position just inside the doorway, keeping an eye out for customers, as she walks past him into the cramped little space.

“I wanted a cupcake last night,” he explains, gesturing to them on the neat, if narrow little desk. “And I wasn’t gonna go out to the supermarket at ass o’clock in the morning and drop $6 for a day-old stale thing covered in too much bad frosting, so I figured I’d just make some. Here.”

He takes one out and shoves it at her. They’re not in any kind of box or anything -- just crammed onto the biggest plate he and Steve own, covered in Saran-wrap tented over toothpicks stuck here and there to keep it out of the decorations.

“Oh my _god_ , Bucky!” Pepper exclaims, holding it up and turning it side to side admiringly. “They’re gorgeous! How’d you do the frosting like that?”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s no big deal. You just put some in a zip-lock bag and cut the tip off.” He’s given her one of the ones that he frosted with a pattern like rose petals. There are a couple different kinds, because after just smearing frosting on the first two (which he promptly ate), he’d figured he wasn’t going back to bed any time soon, and he’d have a better chance of foisting them on people if they didn’t look like ass.

“They’re almost too pretty to eat,” Pepper tells him, but starts peeling away the wrapper anyway, thank God.

“ _Please_ eat them,” he begs her. “The recipe makes two dozen -- I still have like ten of these fuckers on the counter back at home.”

“Is that a cupcake?” a familar voice asks from the front counter. Bucky looks up and his heart leaps to his throat. It’s Natasha, her eyes trained past the curtain to the cupcake in Pepper’s hand. Pepper licks frosting from the tip of her fingers and motions Nat over rapidly.

“Nat, come here quick!” she stage whispers, and Bucky’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline as Natasha lifts the bar’s partition and saunters to the back room. She passes him close enough that he catches a whiff of the way she smells, some sort of complex amalgamation of her soap or shampoo or lotion or whatever with just a hint of… smoke?

“Can she be back here?” he asks, realizing it sounds idiotic.

“Of course she can. I’m the boss, remember?” Pepper reminds him, scooting over to allow Natasha some space. Pepper grabs a cupcake and offers it to her. “Bucky made cupcakes.”

Natasha gives Bucky a measuring look. “Oh did he?” She inspects it with some curiosity. “What kind?”

Bucky’s about to answer, but Pepper beats him to it.

“Chocolate with vanilla buttercream frosting. They’re delicious, try it.”

Natasha pulls down the wrapper just enough to undress an inch or two of dark, rich cake, her lips sliding back over white, even teeth as she closes her eyes and takes a bite. When she opens them again, it’s to glance from the cupcake to Bucky, chewing thoughtfully. “Hmmm,” she hums, voice neutral.

“The cake’s just from the box,” Bucky apologizes, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks away before he can watch her swallow.

“But you _made_ the frosting?” Pepper asks, sounding impressed.

“It’s just milk, powdered sugar, butter and some vanilla,” he explains with a shrug. “Any idiot can do it.”

“I couldn’t,” Natasha says. Bucky glances over and she's not looking at him. Her eyes have dropped back to the cupcake as she carefully picks away more of the wrapper. He feels like he ought to say something, but just as he opens his mouth, Tony Stark shoves his head into the room.

“Are those cupcakes? Rhetorical question. Non-rhetorical: Do we serve cupcakes now?”

Bucky takes a step back, startled by the man’s sudden appearance.

“Hi, Tony,” Pepper says indulgently. “No, we don’t. Bucky just brought these to work today.”

Tony frowns in thought. “Well, we probably should. Asgard Bakery charges an arm and a leg for those scones of theirs, and I don’t like that delivery guy. Arrogant sonuvabitch.”

“You want one?” Nat asks him, holding out a cupcake. Tony looks at her like he just noticed she was there.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Natasha used to work for us, remember? In the old office last summer?” Pepper prompts, taking the cupcake from her and setting it on some boxes near the door. Tony eagerly picks it up and starts unwrapping.

“Right, right,” he says, tearing the bottom of the cupcake away and inverting it over the top to make a kind of sandwich. “The one who did jiujitsu.”

“Krav maga,” Nat corrects simply, and Bucky starts a bit at that. Natasha doesn’t look like the kind of person who could break a guy’s neck with her knees… does she?

 _I’m not sure if that makes her more attractive or a little terrifying,_ he thinks. He must be staring, because she catches his eye and smirks.

 _Both,_ he decides, grinning. _Definitely both._

“Anyhow, I’m down here because I’m having a meeting I can’t get out of and I escaped on the pretense of getting coffee, since we’re literally right above a coffee shop which I technically own.” He licks the last of the frosting out of his moustache at the corner of his mouth. “Mm. Those are good. How much for the rest of them? A couple more might help me survive these financial reports with my sanity intact.”

Bucky realizes he’s talking to him and blinks, surprised.

“I don’t know,” he says, trying to come up with a number. He’d never even thought of selling the damn things. “Uh, a dollar fifty each?”

“What is this, a 3rd grade bake sale?” Tony snorts, reaching out to take the tray. “I had worse ones downtown last week and they were going for five bucks a pop. Pepper, add fifty to his next paycheck for me, would you?” He smacks the back of his hand companionably against Bucky’s chest as he leaves. “Never sell yourself short, kid.”

Then he’s gone, Pepper following behind him to make the coffee orders. Bucky just stands there a moment, mildly stunned.

“Did he just…?”

“Hope you’re not too attached to that plate, James.” He looks over to find Natasha’s still there. She balls up her empty wrapper and tosses it neatly into the trash can on the other side of the room. “Pepper will replace it for you, don’t worry.”

Bucky suddenly has a million questions to ask her -- _You worked for Tony Stark? Are you and Pepper BFFs? Why do you know a super brutal martial art invented by the Israeli military? Is something going to happen to my plate?_ \-- but what comes out is “How do you know my name’s James?”

Natasha steps into his space and taps one short, manicured fingernail against his nametag. Pepper made it before Steve could tell her that practically nobody calls him that, but Bucky brushed off her offer of a new one. It really wasn’t that big a deal.

Nat’s body’s just inches away from him; her messenger bag brushes against his leg. There’s that scent again, almond and cherry and lavender and velvet and some mad, distant trace of fire, soft and dangerous. This is the same girl who sits at the back table solving crossword puzzles and writing papers, wrapped in some oversized sweater or sweet little cardigan, and he realizes that while that might seem contradictory, he finds that it isn’t. It just makes him wonder what else he’s missing.

He swallows and looks down at his name tag.

“Oh,” he says, trying to make it sound something like when someone mentions they listen to a band you like. “You noticed.”

She smiles, showing off those white, even teeth again.

“I noticed,” she agrees, and then she’s walking past him, out into the light and noise of the coffee shop, the real world he’d completely forgotten for a moment. She glances back over her shoulder before she walks through the partition.

“Thanks for the cupcake.”


End file.
